


I Do Do You?

by Captain_Loki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Derek, Break Up, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Las Vegas, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Rimming, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek wake up hung over and married in a hotel room in Las Vegas. It wouldn't be so bad if the year before their relationship hadn't fallen apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Do Do You?

Derek wakes to the sound of violent retching. He’s hit with the sudden and fleeting panic that comes from the momentary confusion of waking up somewhere unfamiliar and he bursts up from the tangle of stark white sheets around him. The room he’s in is bright, too bright, the sun coming in harsh bursts from the windows along the far wall, shades thrown open against the morning…afternoon? It’s hard to tell as Derek squints out at the view of the city spread out in front of him.

Derek hears the sound of vomit hitting water once more and a pitiable moan coming from the bathroom on his right and he remembers. _Vegas_. Isaac’s twenty-first birthday, the baby of the group, and they’d all finally be legal to hit the casinos and drink themselves into stupors…which is apparently an expectation he’d, at the very least, lived up to.

It had been…a long time…since he’d gotten drunk. It usually proved far too much of a hassle to be worth it, the mixture of wolfsbane and other herbs that lowered his tolerance enough for the alcohol to have its intended effect, but last night…this whole weekend _was_ a justifiable exception.

It was also the first time he’d been in the same space as Stiles since they’d broken up over a year ago.

Which wasn’t strictly true, there’d been a couple of holidays and a few run ins at the grocery store when Stiles was home from school on stray weekends, but it was the first time they’d been alone. But even as he tries to rack his brain, call up memories, he can’t recall much about the night before. He remembers the stilted conversation in the car ride down, and then in the Lobby while Scott checked them all into the hotel but everything is mostly a surreal blur.

Derek scratches over the rough stubble on his jaw and takes in the room now his eyes have finally adjusted to the glare. The bed is a mess of tangled sheets, the left side, the empty side, indented and smelling faintly of aftershave, and Derek suspects whoever had been occupying it is now feeling the effects of their own night of binge drinking in his bathroom.

Derek stands up, lets the sheet fall from around his naked waist and goes in search of a pair of boxer briefs. He recognizes the suitcase in the corner as his own, so he thinks points for him for managing to make it back to the right hotel room the night before, tugs on a pair of undershorts, waistband snapping as he settles them on his slender hips.

When he turns around Stiles is standing a few feet from the open bathroom door, his hands hanging limply by his bare sides. He’s not wearing anything but a pair of boxer briefs Derek recognizes as his own, they fit a little loose around the hips and thighs. He looks a little green around the edges, his hair mussed in the back, bruises littering his chest and collarbone. Derek doesn’t meet his eyes, drops his gaze to Stiles’ bare toes where he flexes and curls them, knuckles cracking softly in that way he does when he’s feeling nervous.

Derek snaps his gaze back up, Stiles flushing red along his pale chest, cheeks ruddy. “I’m sorry if the smell…” he says, trailing off and pointing half-heartedly to the bathroom. Derek shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders.

“Right,” Stiles nods, “no, I guess I was always more the sympathy spewer,” he laughs awkwardly, crossing his arms over his chest. He wonders if Stiles remembers the night before, thinks it might be rude to admit that he has no inkling of how they ended up here. But it’s not until he brings his hand to his face, rubs a palm over his mouth and feels something catch on his lip that he thinks it doesn’t matter.

Stiles’ own eyes widen as they catch the movement, and his mouth drops open as Derek brings his hand away from his face to look at it properly, and sees for the first time the silver band circling his left ring finger. His eyes snap up to Stiles’ hand as Stiles’ own does the same, and they both see the matching ring at the same time.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Stiles balks, staring at his hand in mild horror, and Derek can hear his heart ratcheting up in tempo, smell the difference in his scent from just moments before, there’s an edge of panic there that always flashed danger zone to Derek, back when it mattered, when Stiles’ was his to care for. Now though, his fingers twitch to touch but he’s pretty sure it isn’t allowed, wouldn’t be welcome.

He’s not sure though, he can smell Stiles’ aftershave clinging to his skin and he wonders.

“Please tell me this isn’t real,” Stiles begs, and he moves to collapse against the bed, plucking the silver band off his slender finger and rolling it in his palm.

“Tell me this is just drunk us trolling sober us, cos seriously…” Stiles laughs, a little manic, looking up at Derek imploringly. Derek doesn’t know what to say so he shrugs and Stiles huffs another sharp laugh and rises to his feet.

“You haven’t said a fucking word yet, Derek,” Stiles accuses and Derek opens his mouth but he’s not sure what to say and anyway, Stiles isn’t done. “What the fuck happened last night? Cos this…” and he holds the ring up to Derek, like he doesn’t know what Stiles is talking about. “Can’t be fucking happening.”

“I don’t remember anything from last night,” Derek admits, and he tries to take a careful step toward Stiles, but he backs up.

“Okay,” Stiles nods, “okay well…” and he shakes his head again, shrugs his shoulders and gestures wildly. “Fuck!” Derek jumps, startles at the outburst and Stiles turns away from him, starts digging around their discarded clothing.

“What are you looking for?” Derek wonders aloud, uncertain.

“I don’t know? Clues? A fucking—“ he stops short and Derek pads softly over to the other side of the bed where Stiles is kneeling.

“What is it?” Derek asks, though he isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. When Stiles stands he looks livid, and a little sad, there are angry tears welling up at the corner of his brown eyes and he shoves something harshly into Derek’s chest, his hands coming up to take it from him.

“Congratulations,” Stiles offers, “I hope the reception was nice.” Derek looks down at the slip of paper in his hands as Stiles starts tugging on his crumpled pair of jeans, searching, presumably, for the key to his own hotel room, which he finds, stalking towards the door bare foot and bare chested.

The door to the room slams shut, and Derek watches him go, left alone in a big empty hotel room, clutching at hazy disjointed memories and the crumpled certificate of marriage in his shaking hands.

 

\---  
\---

The hotel room Stiles is sharing with Scott is thankfully empty when he pushes the heavy door open and slips inside. Stiles strips quickly, stomach still unsettled and his joints a bit achy. He tries to ignore the spattering of bruises along his collar bone. There’s no other evidence of activity, no bodily fluids drying in awkward places or the pain that is usually associated with having gotten fucked recently.

He can’t remember the night before though, and it’s an uncomfortable weight that settles in his stomach and clenches at his heart. He has no idea how this happened, or worse, how they go forward from here. Stiles tries not to think about it, climbs into the shower and turns the water on full blast, cranking it to the hottest setting.

He thinks about the way Derek looked that morning, flopped listlessly in bed, tan skin looking sleep warm against the sheets, looking like no time had passed since the last time Stiles woke next to him. He scrubs his skin raw with soap that reeks of citrus and tangles his fingers in his hair and hopes this has all been a terrible dream.

He recalls the last real conversation they had, when Derek broke up with him and he had tried really hard to pretend like it was mutual, like he wasn’t moments away from shattering under the weight of it. It was a phone call. A thirty minute long phone call, and Stiles thought maybe it was better that way, Derek unable to see the tears he tried to cover, smell the acrid scent of his disappointment and sorrow, or hear the frenzied notch of his heart as it sped and sped and sped until it felt like it wouldn’t ever stop.

The worst, most humiliating part of it all had been afterwards, when Stiles texted Allison maybe a week later a little awkwardly telling her he didn’t need that book on Alpha mating rituals anymore. She never brought it up, but she did offer him a pitying sort of look the next time he saw her in person, like she was itching to shoot something with the new compound she’d bought or just wrap him up and never let go. She just smiled sort of sadly at him and did him the courtesy of pretending like he hadn’t been thinking about what this would be like.

Stiles _hadn’t_ wanted to break up, but Derek never seemed happy with him. Holidays and weekends and the blissful summer months spent back at Beacon Hills felt right in ways that being at school didn’t. They’d spend hours and days together but then Stiles would leave and things would settle and Derek would stop calling, stop texting and he’d be left wondering if maybe he just wasn’t enough, like Derek had been working for the three years to let him down easy.

After he gets out of the shower Stiles brushes his teeth rigorously and dresses slowly, running on auto pilot as he does up his jeans and tugs on a t-shirt and a soft purple hoodie, crams his feet into a pair of adidas he finds shoved beneath the bed.

Derek is leaning against the wall outside his door when he steps out into the hallway, intent on finding a greasy breakfast to coat the lining of his protesting stomach. Stiles stutters to a stop, a split second of indecision before deciding to pretend like he isn’t there. He jiggles the handle of his hotel door to make sure it’s secure before he turns to walk away. He hears Derek shift to his feet, the barest hint of sound, movement graceful and quiet.

“Stiles—“

“What?” Stiles whips around, crosses his arms over his chest and stares at him, hard.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asks, voice soft and sincere, shoulders slumped and posture…defeated. Stiles deflates suddenly, heart clenching in his chest. Derek’s hair is wet, spikes clumped and flat against his forehead, a spot dampening the front of his shirt as though he dressed in a rush.

“Confused,” Stiles decides. “I thought—“ Stiles huffs a soft laugh at himself and shakes his head. “Why would you go along with this?” He asks then, gesturing between them. He notices Derek hasn’t taken the ring off and his mouth goes dry.

“Why would _you_?” Derek asks, and it comes out like a demand before his face softens suddenly and he looks contrite. Stiles bites back what he wants to say, wants to throw his affection at Derek like a grenade but can’t.

“We could probably go and, you know, get it annulled or whatever,” Derek offers. Stiles shrugs. “Wouldn’t even have to tell anyone—“

“Right, wouldn’t want to admit that terrible humiliation,” Stiles scoffs, and Derek’s brows flit together in confusion.

“Getting drunk and married?” Derek asks, and Stiles can’t tell if he’s being deliberately obtuse.

“To me,” Stiles clarifies.

“Stiles that’s not…” Derek shakes his head and takes a small step forward, arm coming up to reach out but Stiles reflexively shrinks away and Derek’s arm drops to his side limply. “That’s not what I meant,” he says.

“Why would you think I’d think that?” Derek asks, confusion in every line of his posture, in the deep frown on his face and the sad curvature of his brows. Stiles shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“And what, does that mean you don’t want to?” Stiles asks, huffing out a self-deprecating sort of laugh as he takes Derek in, “you want stay married?” Derek doesn’t say anything, and he avoids Stiles eyes as he takes in the painting hung on the other side of the hall.

“You want to stay married,” Stiles says, it comes out manic but it’s not a question. Derek catches his gaze momentarily and his cheeks flush.

“What the fuck Derek,” Stiles chokes on the words. “You’re the one that broke up with me!”

“I didn’t—“ Derek starts but stops, cowed slightly, “you agreed.”

“What was I supposed to do?!” Stiles cries, moving forward slightly, Derek holds his ground but tenses. “I know things between us weren’t fucking perfect or anything but you just called me up out of the fucking _blue_ and told me you couldn’t be with me anymore!”

“I didn’t mean for it to—“ Derek tries, “I didn’t know how to—“

“What?” Stiles demands.

“Be what you needed!”

“I needed you!” Stiles shouts, moving back then.

“I’m sorry,” Derek tries.

“Me too, Derek,” Stiles hisses, laughs softly and shakes head, “but that always seems to be it with us, huh? How we’re both just fucking _sorry_.” Stiles turns then without looking back and Derek makes a soft choking noise behind him, asks “where are you going?” Soft and uncertain.

“Breakfast!” Stiles shouts and waits until he’s certain he’s out of earshot before breaking down.

\---

Stiles is fairly certain hung over and crying softly over the bacon and egg buffet in the hotel dining hall is probably a new low. But he sees a woman sitting at another table doing the same while whispering in furious hushed tones that she doesn’t know what she’ll do if her baby comes out half Asian and Stiles feels a little better.

There’s a tremor that runs up his leg as his phone begins vibrating softly against his thigh and he pulls it out. He didn’t think to check his phone, for pictures or messages or anything, and he does so now with trembling trepidation. There are few picture texts from Isaac a reverse chronology of his descent into public drunkenness. There are several texts from Scott asking where he went and a couple from Allison that just say ‘make good decisions’ which Stiles supposes he failed miserably at.

And then he finds it. Thumbnail an unflattering still of Derek, a video message waiting to be played, the caption on it reads: _for the inevitable freak out_. It was sent to him around one in the morning and Stiles’ finger hovers uncertainly on the play button. He abandons his food and searches out a quiet, private spot to sit down and listen.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek nods a little resolutely and clears his throat, camera shaking slightly with the movement. Stiles watches him lean forward, rattling the phone for a second as Derek leans it against whatever’s in front of him, then he sits back, shifts in his chair.

“ _It’s Derek_ ,” Derek says and he rolls his eyes and drops his face into his palms before he looks back up, and Stiles can’t help the smirk that twitches at his lips. “ _Obviously…”_ he stares at the camera and mumbles something Stiles can’t quite hear.

“ _Fuck it, this is like take number four_ ,” he shakes his head. “ _Congratulations! You’re married!_ ” Derek laughs, and he holds up his hand for the camera. “ _My deepest condolences that it’s to me_ ,” he says and a sharp huff of laughter breaks free from Stiles.

“ _I love you_ ,” he says then, voice determined. “ _And I’d gladly spend an eternity looking an idiot if you’re there to make fun of me for it_.”

“ _Everything that happened between us, it was my fault_ ,” he nods. Stiles shakes his head to himself and Derek mirrors it on camera. “ _No, it was, okay_?”

“ _Look, breaking up with you was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, hands down_.”

“ _And that’s in a long sordid history of dumb fucking things_ ,” Derek admits. “ _You could probably tell me every single one of them, actually,_ ” Derek laughs, “ _no I know you can, because you showed me that list you made in high school_.” Stiles remembers that, before they were officially together, and eventually he’d scrawled ‘Not Dating Stiles Stilinski’ at the top, tacked it to the bulletin board in Derek’s kitchen before he left for college.

“ _I spent so much time expecting you…waiting…for you to find someone better and I just, I pushed you away and I’m sorry. I thought if I just let you go it’d hurt less when you left me_.” Stiles can feel his eyes stinging and he bites back the angry, hurt tears threatening to spill.

“ _It didn’t, by the way, hurt less, I mean_ ,” Derek clarifies. “ _I don’t deserve you, maybe I could have before but I definitely don’t now, but I want to be with you so_ bad _Stiles I can feel it shaking me apart. Because I love you._ ”

“ _I’ve just spent so much time hating myself I can’t…get my head around the fact that you don’t feel the same way. That you can look at me and see something worth…existing_.”

“ _You make me a better person, Stiles and I…”_ he looks down at his lap and then back up at the camera, Stiles’ heart clenching at the way he smiles, soft and open and real for just a moment.

“ _You make me…_ ” Derek pauses, shakes his head trying to find the right words, and Stiles watches, bites at his thumb nail. “ _You make me patient, and…and balanced, and kind…and…_ ” Derek stops suddenly, brows flicking together and then he bursts out laughing and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat.

“ _Fuck, no, those are they lyrics to Skinny Love_ ,” and Stiles laughs, openly for the first time as the Derek in his palm covers his face in broad hands until he’s pulling away, wiping away the tears from his eyes. “ _Fuck, I’m so bad at this. And I’m drunk. God, I’m drunk. And I’m married. Fuck we got married_.” Derek shakes his head and pauses, staring off into the distance somewhere for a long time before he looks back.

“ _I just want to make you happy Stiles_ ,” Derek says, sobering slightly. “ _If…tomorrow you watch this and you think…you think I could…I just want to try. I’m not good with people, but I…_ ”

“ _I just love you, okay?_ ”

“ _I’d do anything you asked. I’d burn the world down if it’d make you happy. I’d try…_ ” Derek’s lip trembles and he laughs a little self-deprecatingly. “ _I’d try to love myself if that’s what you needed_ _from me_.”

Stiles watches it twice more, pauses on the smile Derek levels at the camera. He puts the phone down on the seat beside him and stands, pacing around it, staring at it uncertainly. He bites at his thumbnail until there’s nothing left and dodges forward, snatches at the phone and hits the speed dial for Derek’s number he never bothered to change.

Derek picks up after the first ring, voice rushed and hopeful, “Stiles?”

“Yeah, I uh…I found this video on my phone,” Stiles starts.

“I found one on mine,” Derek tells him, and he pauses. Stiles swallows heavily, doesn’t remember filming it but he doesn’t need to, to know what it must say.

“We should talk,” Stiles offers and he knows Derek is nodding silently on the other end before he says, rushed, “yeah, right yeah…where are you?”

“I’m in the lobby, are you—“

“I’m in my room—“

“I’ll come to you,” Stiles tells him and there’s another short pause and Derek says, “okay.”

 

\---  
\---

Derek just watches Stiles go, and he laughs sardonically to himself, it feels like the eight hundredth time he’s seen the back of him and did nothing despite the overwhelming feeling that he’s suffocating. He just watches though, like he’s done countless times before, bit back on the urge to push into Stiles’ space and cling like a stubborn, homesick child, beg him not to leave.

Instead he turns away and sits alone in his too quiet hotel room and does nothing for long drawn out minutes. Eventually he finds his discarded phone fallen onto the floor and half beneath a pair of socks and he takes it out onto the balcony where the sun is bright and warm and the air feels cool against his flushed skin.

He flips through the pictures from Erica and Boyd and the unreadable texts from Isaac until he eventually stumbles upon a video message sent to him from Stiles the night before labeled: _Cos we’re so not gonna remember this in the morning._

If Derek is being honest, he’s terrified of hitting play. There are so many things he blames himself for, knows Stiles blames him too if the shouting match out in the hallway was any indication and he deserves it. He doesn’t know how anything Stiles could have to say to him would be favorable in any way. But he leans forward, cradles the phone against the glare of the sun and hits play.

 

“ _Okay_ ,” Stiles huffs out a breath and grins, “ _hi_ ,” he laughs at himself, face flushed, cheeks pink, eyes bright.

“ _You’re probably freaking the fuck out right no—I’m probably freaking the fuck out right now, but you’re recording your own for me so…you can take care of that…are taking care of that…_ ” the camera wobbles for a second as Stiles moves, settles back against what looks like the wall of one of the hotel’s hallways.

“ _So, if this is like Hangover material right here and you have no idea what the hell happened last night? Well…_ ” Stiles smiles, and he looks happy as he moves his other hand into frame and waggles his fingers. “ _We got married._ ”

“ _But you’ve probably figured that much out,_ ” Stiles nods.

“ _So, yeah, I’ll just…we never really got to say what we wanted to each other back before we…you know,_ ” he says, looking up into the camera now. “ _And I just, I didn’t want to break up, you know? I thought that’s what you wanted so I just…I let you go. And I’m sorry._ ” There’s a short pause as Stiles nods softly, face gone a little slack and eyes unfocused but then he’s smiling again, wide.

“ _I love you. I know we never said to each other before and that was fucking stupid. Because we both felt it, I know that. I love you and I have for a really long time, way before either of us ever got our shit together enough to do something about it._ ”

“ _But every time I thought like we were getting closer to this you just kept…alluding me,_ ” Stiles shakes his head and laughs, a little manic. “ _That’s not what I mean…I don’t fucking…I’m so drunk Derek. Fuck I’m really drunk. But I want this. Want you._ ” The phone shakes in his hand as his fingers tremble softly, stomach flipping, chest seizing, heart light for the first time in what feels like a life time.

“ _We kept running, that’s all either of us has ever known how to do. Fucking run. I don’t want to run anymore Derek. Not away from you, run fucking forever if you were there with me, towards you_ ,” Stiles rests his head against the wall and smiles.

“ _God, you’re fucking beautiful too, you know? Not like…attractive either_ ,” and then he shakes his head, makes a funny face and laughs, “ _no like you’re really fucking attractive, but that wasn’t exactly our problem you know?_ ”

“ _You’re just, everything about you. The way you hold yourself sometimes, when you’re working out or fighting like you just know where everything is and how to fucking move like the world just bends around you, to you, like you command it._ ” Derek laughs softly, eyes brimming over with tears he feels no compulsion to bite back.

“ _Being with you its like…it’s like being trapped in one of those fucking tanks, the bell jar shit thing from the Ministry of Magic, it’s like an eternity of living and dying all rolled into the span of a single moment replayed over and over again. Every minute is like watching time unfold and relapse back cos it’s never enough and it always feels like forever._ ”

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek laughs, standing up, pacing on the balcony and thrumming to the bone with energy.

“ _I want to be with you forever. I want that. I never knew what you wanted and I was too afraid to tell you that you were it for me. Cos like…what if you said no? What if that’s not how you felt and fuck, what would I do when you fucking realized how shit I am?_ ”

“Stiles—“

“ _I say terrible things I don’t mean and laugh at the things I shouldn’t and I’m scared all the time. I’m so afraid, Derek. But I’ve already gone through the two worst things like ever…”_

_“…And I don’t want to lose you again.”_

“ _So, like…just keep me, forever, please. ”_

 

\--

Derek waits for Stiles in the hallway in front of his door; he can hear him coming, can smell him beneath the lemon scent of the hotel shampoo and the grease from breakfast, and would know the sound of his heartbeat from the thousands of any crowd.

He doesn’t say anything and neither does Stiles as he pads softly on the squishy carpet to stand beside and above him. He slides down the wall and lands with a soft thump and waits.

“Did you mean what you said?” Stiles asks, “in the video?” Derek pauses for a moment and turns to look at Stiles.

“I don’t remem—“ but he stops short, “did I tell you I hate you and that I think you’re ugly?” He asks instead, trying for light. Stiles shakes his head, “no.”

“Did I tell you that I don’t want to be with you?”

“No, mostly the opposite.”

“Then I meant it,” Derek says with as much conviction as he can muster. “Did you?”

“Yea,” Stiles nods. They lapse into silence, it’s not companionable, or comfortable, but it isn’t awkward the way it might be. Neither of them knows how to start this conversation, it seems important and Derek is pretty sure he’ll fuck it up so he doesn’t say anything.

“What did I say?” Stiles asks suddenly, and he goes for Derek’s phone without asking and Derek swings it out of his reach.

“Hey!” Derek says, “it’s for me,” he huffs.

“But I recorded it!”

“But it’s a secret.”

“From me?” Stiles laughs and Derek’s heart flips in his chest and he agrees.

“It’s a secret from sober you, drunk you had very specific instructions,” Derek argues.

“Yeah, right,” Stiles huffs.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” Derek says, holding out his phone then. Stiles laughs and looks away.

“Isn’t that how I asked you out?”

“If I remember correctly,” Derek says.

“It didn’t work.”

“It did eventually,” Derek reasons and Stiles slips the phone easily out of his slack grip and replaces it with his own. Stiles plugs headphones into his phone to block out the sound of Derek’s. They watch in silence, and Derek flushes embarrassed at the whole thing, Stiles making similar noises of discomfort beside him, but then his hand is stuttering over the carpet and finding Derek’s, his pinky winding itself around Derek’s own between them.

“Does this count as second hand embarrassment or just embarrassment?” Derek asks, shoving the phone back into Stiles’ hands as he laughs at Derek.

“It’s not embarrassing,” Stiles says.

“I tried to woo you with accidental Bon Iver lyrics,” Derek reasons and Stiles cackles at him, Derek flushing up the back of his neck and scowling.

“I fucked you for the first time while that song was playing,” Stiles sighs softly. Derek nods and looks down at his hands in his lap.

“I...uh…I never told you,” Derek starts, clears his throat and catches Stiles’ eye quickly. “I don’t know why, that was the first time that…that was the first time anyone had ever…”

“I know,” Stiles nods and Derek looks at him, long and hard. “I figured you had your reasons for not saying anything and,” Stiles shrugged softly, “I knew you’d tell me when you trusted me with it.”

“Sometimes I don’t realize how deep seated my trust issues are, Stiles,” Derek admits, forlornly.

“Sometimes I don’t realize how indifferent I seem when I don’t know how to tell you how I feel, Derek,” Stiles tells him.

“It was my—“

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t want this to be just another thing you put on yourself, okay?” Stiles pleads, a little desperate. “Whatever happened, it happened, and we both suck, we both fucked up.”

“But I—“

“No, Derek, you promised,” Stiles argues. “I’m holding sober you to drunk you’s promise!”

“Which one?” Derek asks, soft. Stiles pushes himself into Derek’s space, tugs at his elbow until Derek gets the hint and moves, swings himself around slow and tentative, before settling himself down onto Stiles’ lap. Stiles grins up at him, and Derek rests his hands gently against Stiles’ face, cupping his smooth jaw, his soft pale cheeks lightly, leaning down slightly to press his lips to Stiles’.

It’s the first time he’s touched him since...Derek can’t remember and that settles uncomfortably in his stomach, like a dead weight. “Fuck, I’ve missed that,” Stiles offers when they pull back. “Way too long,” he nods, nuzzling against the underside of Derek’s jaw.

“I’m really hoping it hasn’t been that long,” Derek argues, and Stiles glances up at him. “Have you seen your chest?” He asks, “Those better be my teeth marks or I’m going to have some serious words with whoever the hell you let bite you on our _wedding night_.”

Stiles laughs, pulling Derek tight against him, clutching at the loose material of his t-shirt and burying his face in the crook of Derek’s neck. Long minutes pass by in silence, Derek nosing at Stiles’ temple, Stiles humming soft and without conscious thought the way he does sometimes in his sleep, high and breathy and content.

“If you don’t want, you know,” Derek says, sudden and soft, “to stay with me, I understand.” Stiles pulls back a little to gaze up at him.

“What do you want?” Stiles asks him, sincere.

“I want,” Derek starts and he laughs a little nervously, edge of self-deprecation, “I want to hyphenate our names and buy monogramed hand towels and fight with you over what color to paint our bedroom but mostly I just want you,” Derek sighs, blushing a shade of deep red.

“We could combine our names, Stale? Oh wait, no, that’s really awful. Haleinski?” Derek crushes Stiles’ lips beneath his own and Stiles laughs around them, lips making a crude popping sound as he tries to pull back. “Blue.”

“What?” Derek asks, smiling.

“I want to paint the bedroom blue,” Stiles clarifies. Derek ducks his head, “I like grey.”

“Wow, there’s a surprise.”

“What’s wrong with grey?” Derek asks, climbing off of Stiles lap and standing, helping him to his feet.

“It’s boring!”

“It’s a nice neutral.”

“Boring.”

“We can accessorize in blue,” Derek teases.

“They’ll go great with your _balls_ ,” Stiles throws back at him, and Derek makes an indignant scoffing noise behind him, pinches Stiles on the ass as he pushes past him towards his room. Stiles squawks and flushes, pins Derek against the door when he manages to get it open.

“You ready to consummate?” Stiles asks, his voice low, eyes heavy lidded. Derek’s lip twitch up in a smirk and he smiles, kisses Stiles deeply, hand moving to grasp at the back of his head and neck, other hand resting on his hip as he leads Stiles backwards toward the bed.

“That makes it official,” Derek tells him, watching him. Stiles smiles, nods, “I know.”

“You’re sure?” Derek asks, and Stiles lifts his head up with an insistent finger to his chin.

“I do,” he says.

“That’s not grammatically correct,” Derek points out, brows flitting together. Stiles sighs heavily and collapses against the sheets, tugging his shoes and socks off as Derek moves towards him.

“It was supposed to be romantic and symbolic.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Ugh,” he sighs, dramatic, “the worst.”

“You getting cold feet?” Derek asks, voice light. Stiles shrugs and lifts his leg up, smacks Derek in the face with his foot as he moves to lean over Stiles.

“Ow,” Derek huffs, grabbing at it, tickling at Stiles’ toes with one hand as he rubs his sore lip with the other.

“You gonna fuck me or what?” Stiles asks, letting his legs spread, hips arching slightly up off the mattress.

“I thought maybe,” Derek says, laying himself down on top of Stiles gently, “I think…I think maybe I need…”

“You want to bottom for me?” Derek nods contrite, and Stiles smiles at him, kisses him hard, deep, rolls them over until he’s lying sprawled out on top of Derek, kissing down his throat and nipping at his skin. Derek makes soft stuttered noises, his fingers twitching against Stiles’ hips.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans, “I don’t know how much foreplay I can handle,” he admits, cheeks reddening. Stiles looks very willing to oblige and he nods, starts pushing Derek’s shirt up, tugging his own off. Stiles rubs their chests together once, slithers down until he can mouth at the hard line of Derek’s cock through his jeans, Derek writhing beneath him. He doesn’t tease long, just pops the button of Derek’s jeans and starts stripping him quickly, efficiently, and then he rolls him until Derek is on his stomach, pillow shoved beneath his hips as Stiles leans forward, gripping at his ass cheeks and spreading him.

“Oh fuck,” Derek sighs, buries his face in the sheets beneath him and holds on as Stiles’ tongue licks up the center of him, over his balls and perineum, dipping into him, tongue curled around the rim of his ass hole as his thumbs stretch him open. Derek grunts softly, flushes with embarrassment because he’s never quite grown accustomed to how much both of them enjoy this. He refused to look Stiles in the eye after the first time he did this, all nervous excitement, teaching Derek how to prep himself with a video tutorial he’d found online and Derek just staring at him like he had no idea how anyone would want that, until he’d done it, and then he’d come so hard he felt like he was going to black out from it.

Stiles is groaning now into the skin between his ass, humming softly, biting and nipping at the flesh there and Derek’s hips grind back of their own accord and he hears Stiles’ noise of approval as he licks deeper. He’s gone suddenly then, and Derek whines and turns his head, sees him fumbling for something in the jeans he’d somehow managed to discard mid rim.

Then he’s back and there are fingers now, wet and warm slipping inside him, and Derek keens, and freezes, widening his stance impossibly and grunting at the feel of Stiles inside him. Derek has always loved Stiles’ hands, the way they move when he speaks, the way they fumble over things, constantly dropping pencils and notebooks, his stupid phone, the one Derek bought him for his twentieth. He’s never loved Stiles’ hands more than when there here though, long and dexterous, fucking into him, stretching him open for his tongue.

“Fuck, God Stiles, please, I’m ready for you to fuck me,” he cries. Stiles obliges, pulls back and helps Derek roll over, hips still propped up on a pillow, affording him better access. “Condom?” Stiles asks, and Derek shakes his head, “I want…I haven’t been with anyone since we—“

“Me either,” Stiles confides.

“I want to feel just you,” Derek tells him, pupils blown wide and lips bitten red. Stiles nods, leans over Derek to kiss him, whole body enveloping him, skin to skin, flushed warm. Stiles kisses him hard, all wet tongue and long languid presses of lips as Stiles coats himself a little awkwardly with lube.

Stiles doesn’t take his eyes off Derek as he slowly guides his cock inside him. Derek’s breath catches in his throat and he makes a high wracking sob as he clutches at the back of his knees to hold himself open, legs stretching around Stiles’ hips. When he’s in, Stiles lets his eyes flutter shut and starts to move against him, bracing himself beside Derek’s head and fucking him. Stiles’ thighs slap against the back of Derek’s as he moves, his pace quick and even.

He slows after a short time, stretching himself over Derek, making as much skin to skin contact as he can, enveloping Derek the way he knows Derek craves when they fuck like this, and he does. Loves the feel of Stiles breath hot on his face as they stare at each other with open want and desperation, loves the feel of Stiles’ hips forcing him open, hands on his skin, mouths on each other.

Derek jerks himself off a little lazily as Stiles fucks him, slowing to a crawling sort of pace that rents high pitched sobs from Derek as he feels Stiles’ cock slide out tantalizingly unhurried before he thrusts back in hard. He does this until Derek can feel his orgasm building, and he clutches at Stiles’ shoulders in desperation. Stiles starts thrusting more rapidly then, pulling Derek over the edge quickly as he comes between them, breath catching in his throat, fingers scrabbling over Stiles’ smooth, pale skin. Stiles comes shortly after, head buried in Derek’s neck, mouth sucking kisses into his shoulder as he rides his orgasm out.

Afterwards, Stiles pulls out and Derek can feel his come leaking from his ass, Stiles looks down at him in a self-satisfied sort of way and Derek never tires of that look. It’s a triumphant affectionate sort of look before their tangling themselves together at every joint and kissing slow and measured.

“Fuck, so we’re really gonna do this?” Stiles asks.

“I think we just did? Did you miss it? Shame, it was really good,” Derek teases and Stiles punches him lightly on the arm and rolls them so Derek is on top, pinning Stiles into the sheets.

“Yeah, we’re gonna do this,” Derek agrees.

“I love you,” Stiles smiles, the first time he says it to Derek without the buffer of time and space between them.

“I love you more,” Derek decides and Stiles pulls a face and kisses him, hard. 


End file.
